Wyman waved Cade off. “That was a long time ago,” he said. “I’m sure Ike didn’t know all the threats we’d have to face in the twenty-first century. He probably didn’t intend to tie our hands like that.”
“Actually, he did,” Cade said. “I was there.”
Wyman’s scowl deepened, and he turned to the president.
“This is exactly what I was talking about before,” he said, his voice creeping close to a whine. “When I see these things just going to waste, under glass in that little secret hideaway he sits in ... These aren’t artifacts. These are weapons. We should use them.”
Griff made a noise, deep in his throat.
“Something to say, Agent Griffin?” Wyman asked.
Zach hadn’t seen Griff’s face like this before. The veep had done something Zach hadn’t managed with all his needling. He’d pissed the old guy off.
“Yes, sir,” Griff said. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Wyman’s mouth dropped open. The president suppressed a smile.
“You are out of line, Agent Griffin,” Wyman hissed.
“I’m not finished,” Griff said. “Haven’t you been
listening?
Those things aren’t weapons. That’s just the promise they dangle in front of the people stupid enough to use them. They’re keys, and they open a door that has to be kept closed, at any cost. This isn’t a policy debate. You haven’t a fucking clue as to what I’ve seen, and you damn sure don’t want it walking the Earth. Sir.”
Wyman’s face went red. “We’ve already let evil inside,” he said, looking at Cade. “Some might say we’ve let it get far too close.”
Griff looked ready to fire back, but the president held up his hand.
“That’s enough, Agent Griffin,” he said.
“What about a missile strike?” the chairman of the Joint Chiefs asked. “Conventional or nuclear, those bastards can’t walk away from that.”
“No, they can’t,” Griff agreed. “Neither will anyone else in the target area.”
The chairman made a face. “In other words, the only way to stop them from killing thousands of people is by dropping a bomb that will kill thousands of people.”
“Maybe we could get some Predator drones into the air,” the director of the CIA suggested.
“In domestic airspace?” Wyman shot back. “Are you insane?”
“And who would be at the trigger?” the chairman asked. “CIA or DOD?”
The men began talking over one another. Cade walked away from the table. The president noticed.
“Are we boring you, Cade?”
“Yes,” he said.
A short, shocked laugh from someone. “Unbelievable,” Wyman muttered.
“You have something to add, let’s hear it,” President Curtis said.
Cade looked at the ceiling, then back down at the men at the table. “Very well. Small words. If we are right, there will be dead soldiers walking down the street of an American city. Killing everything they find. Made of the pieces of men who died to protect this country. Mothers will see their dead sons’ faces on television, doing horrible things. And people will believe in the things in the dark again. Every time this happens, the Other Side gains ground. Its borders expand with fear. It feeds on our pain. And every corpse that is piled in the street will tell the world you failed to protect this nation.”
That shut everyone up. Even Wyman.
The president looked at the photo of the tattoo, still on the screen.
“So what are our options?”
“We stop them before they are activated,” Cade said. “That is the only option.”
Zach knew he probably shouldn’t say anything. But now he was scared, too. “Maybe it’s too late for that,” he said. “How do we know they haven’t been fired up already?”
“Because no one is dead yet,” Cade said.
THE PRESIDENT DIDN’T TAKE long to reach a decision after that. He ordered Griffin to stay in Washington and find out where the shipment came from and who sent it. Cade, he ordered to talk to Konrad, to treat him as a suspect, but not to do anything without proof.
“Like it or not, the man is a citizen now,” he said. “You hear me, Cade?”
Cade nodded.
“Zach, you’ll go with Cade,” the president said. “Nothing like starting in the deep end.”
He closed the folder and left the room, the Secret Service men right behind him. Wyman was up like a jack-in-the-box, already complaining as they walked to the elevator up to the White House.
Without a word to Griff or Cade, Zach hurried out the door after them.
CADE AND GRIFF WATCHED them go. Griff, still seated, let out a huge puff of air; to Cade, his breath smelled of frustration.
“You know we should bring him in,” he said.
“No,” Cade said. “I should have killed him years ago.”
Griff nodded. “But we have our orders,” he said.
“We have our orders,” Cade agreed. He was busy wiping the hard drive of the laptop, running a program that would scour it to the bare metal. No records of these meetings were ever kept, and the digital images from Zach’s phone could never be allowed out of the P-OCK.
“What was that, with Wyman?” Cade asked.
“It’s not like I’m worried about losing my pension.”
Another uncomfortable silence. Cade really thought he’d be better at watching people die by now.
Griff nodded in the direction of the door. “Looks like the kid is going to try to quit.”
Cade gave Griff his ghost of a smile. “I wish him luck.”
ZACH CAUGHT UP with the president and Wyman at the elevator doors. The Secret Service stepped forward slightly. For a split second, Zach was flattered that they considered him a threat. Hanging with a vampire was raising his street cred.
The president made a small gesture, and they stepped back again. He shook Zach’s hand.
“Zach,” he said. “How do you like the job so far?”
You bastard, Zach thought. Out loud, he said, “Sir, I think you’ve made a mistake.”
“I gave you my orders, Zach. You and Cade will question the doctor—”
“That’s not what I meant, sir.” Ordinarily, Zach would never interrupt the president, but he had to talk fast. The elevator down into the P-OCK took a while, and that was all the time he’d get. “I don’t think I’m right for this job.”
“I disagree,” the president said.
“Sir, with all due respect, you’re wrong. Unbelievably wrong. I am not the guy for this. You need a Navy SEAL or someone from the CIA. For God’s sake”—Zach lowered his voice here—“when I met Cade
I wet my pants.”
“He has that effect on people,” the president said.
“Sir, please, if you want me to say I’m sorry about your daughter—”
The president took Zach around the shoulders and walked him away from the others. “Zach—you really think you’re here because of what you did with Candace? I know you’re smarter than that.”
“Then why?”
The president looked him in the eye. “Because you
are
smart. You’re resourceful. And you’re loyal. Those are qualities that are hard to come by these days.”
Zach might have imagined it, but he thought the president glanced back at Wyman.
“Believe me, Zach,” the president said, “this is the most important job you could possibly have in my administration. Trust me when I say I need you to do this.”
The elevator chimed softly. The president turned, and he and Wyman and the agents got on board. He looked at Zach. Then the SOB actually winked at him.
Zach just stared dumbly back as the doors closed.
ELEVEN
1967—So—called Night of the Living Dead incident, Evans City, Pennsylvania—Unintentional release of experimental compound based on the work of Dr. Johann Konrad (see “Baron von Frankenstein”) causes recently deceased humans to regain metabolic function, i.e., “return to life.” Revived humans attacked a farm-house where non-affected residents of the area sought safety. The compound broke down after approximately eight hours, and the deceased “died” once again. No survivors.
—BRIEFING BOOK: CODENAME: NIGHTMARE PET
T
he next few hours were strangely dull for Zach—the usual hurry-up-and-wait of preparing for a trip. They took the car to Andrews Air Force Base. A man in a suit took the keys from them after they parked, and drove off fast in the direction of the runways.
Zach didn’t have time to ask what that was about. The sky was getting light. He had to hurry to keep up with Cade as he entered a small hangar marked EVERGREEN AVIATION.
Inside, the space was mostly empty, aside from a few spare tires for landing gear, and a long, aluminum case.
Cade got inside the case and snapped the lid shut, without a word to Zach.
Zach didn’t know what to do. He waited.
Everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours began to pile up. He tried to assimilate all he’d learned by holding an imaginary press briefing in his head. He’d done a few while at the White House, and he found nothing focused his thoughts like fending off the jackals of the media.
Q: Mr. Barrows, you say you’ve been selected to assist a vampire? Are you quite sure you haven’t had a psychotic break with reality?
A: Well, when I see him, my guts turn to water, and I have to clench everything I have just to keep from screaming in raw panic. And he’s got fangs. So, yeah, I’m going to go with vampire.
Q: Does he feed on human beings?
A: He says not.
Q: And you believe that?
A: I’ve got no reason to doubt him. So far. Yes, Helen?
Q: What other supernatural elements is the U.S. government employing? Are there werewolves at the State Department?
A: You’d have to ask them. For all I know, they’ve got zombies at the IRS. All I can tell you about is the vampire.
Q: The material you handed out says he’s vulnerable to sunlight and fire. What about garlic? Or silver?
A: Search me. I haven’t bought him any pizza or jewelry yet. [Laughter]
Q: This
Unmenschsoldat
threat—it sounds like a lot of people could die if you screw up.
A: That’s not a question.
Q: What’s this “Other Side” we keep hearing about?
A: I’m afraid that’s classified.
Q: You mean you don’t know.
A: And that’s all we have time for.
Q: Mr. Barrows, is this really what you wanted to do with your life?
A: Thank you all for coming.
Zach thought it over. He was stuck. The president had made that clear. But maybe there was a way back into a real power position. If he did the job, went along with this madness ... maybe he could get promoted. Or a transfer.
Two maintenance personnel entered wearing grease-stained coveralls. They picked up the case and walked out with it. Zach figured he was supposed to follow.
They loaded the case into a jeep and then drove out to a runway where a C-130 cargo plane was waiting, engines idling.
Inside the huge mouth of the plane, Zach saw the sedan parked, with more men in jumpsuits strapping it into place.
The maintenance men hopped out of the jeep, grabbed the case, and hustled it on board. Zach jogged after them.
The pilot—who wore coveralls without any insignia or patches—waited by the car. The plane was as big inside as an elementary school gym. He yelled something Zach couldn’t hear over the engines, and turned for the head of the plane.
Up in the cockpit, the copilot was already seated. He pointed to a free pair of headphones. Zach put them on.
“—welcome to sit here, or in the back with your luggage,” Zach heard, the words suddenly synching up with the man’s moving lips.
The pilot flipped levers. Zach heard a bunch of terms he didn’t understand through the headphones as the men went through the preflight. Stuff about deltas and niners and headers. Zach walked back into the cargo hold again.
In the back, the maintenance crew ran off the plane quickly, both the sedan and the case strapped down.
The plane lurched forward. Zach hurried to a seat near Cade’s coffin. He felt like that’s where he belonged.
Suddenly, the pilot was talking to Zach again. “Hey, you like Zep?”
“Uh ... sure,” Zach said.
He fastened his seat belt as the sounds of Jimmy Page’s guitar began to wail through his headphones.
Maybe there really are werewolves in the State Department, he thought.
Then, despite the music and the roar of the engines, Zach fell asleep.
TWELVE
With the capture of the specimen by Operative Cade, actual physical examination reveals A.
Khorkhoi
to be a tentacle, the only visible part of a much larger creature. However, like a starfish, the tentacles are capable of detaching if seized, and can then grow another full-sized version of the creature. This may be the creature’s only method of reproduction, and it is quite laborious and slow The
Khorkhoi’s
lifespan measures on a scale similar to tortoises and trees. It’s possible the same creature has existed since the time seawater covered the Mongolian desert, splitting off and forming new bodies as years and centuries pass.
—
Notes of Dr. Peterson Sloane, Sanction V Research Group
THE RELIQUARY, WASHINGTON, D.C.
G
riff felt a draft. The papers on the desk in front of him rustled slightly.
The only way that could have happened was if someone opened the hidden door, which no one else was supposed to know about.
It shouldn’t have been possible, but he’d been at this too long to waste time on disbelief Instead, he reached below the desk and put his hand around the stock of the modified Protecta Street Sweeper mounted there. The semiautomatic shotgun was designed to clear riots.